And Then Some
by LiquidLash
Summary: Kissing then killing is a thing Jack Harkness and John Hart do so well, and they should: they taught each other. Over the years their names were lost, as time went by they became different people. Things change and life goes on. But it all has to start somewhere...
1. Astounding Alphabetics

It should be noted that this story was first posted in November 2009 for National Novel Writing Month. It consisted of thirty chapters, over sixty thousand words, and it had over a hundred reviews.

And it was taken down from the site a month ago (on my birthday, no less!) without warning.

Hence I am re-posting in protest.

I hope you enjoy. A lot of love, care, randomness and insomnia went into this story.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Anything you may recognise as coming from either Torchwood or Doctor Who does not belong to me. Everything else is, however, mine.

**Chapter One – Astounding Alphabetics**

"You have got to be joking me."

Major Tulsen tilted his head, regarding the young man before him. "Captain, I am neither joking nor amused."

"But you can't pair him with me!" the young man protested. "You might as well ship me off to babysit the Rift; I can work much better on my own!"

"Nevertheless," said Major Tulsen, injecting frosty seriousness into his tone, "you are to be partnered with him. Orders are orders, Hasphane. Unless you'd like to..." He left the sentence hanging and the young man blanched.

"No, thank you," he said. "This will be fine."

"You changed your tune quickly," remarked Major Tulsen.

"It's all about learning to adapt, _sir_," said the young man.

Major Tulsen looked at the closed file before him. "Captain J. Hasphane," he read aloud. "What does the J stand for this week?"

"Jacobyte," said Captain Jacobyte Hasphane. "I found it in the archives. Old English word for 'rebel'."

"Is it indeed," Major Tulsen murmured. He opened the file.

Jacobyte Hasphane looked at Major Tulsen curiously before saying, "Why not the digital?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Jacobyte cocked an eyebrow and jutted out his chin in challenge. "I asked why you weren't looking at the digital records, sir."

"Because," Tulsen said without looking up, "the digital records are more easily tampered with. I like pen and paper best; it's solid, it's real."

Jacobyte made a noncommittal, almost thoughtful sound.

"And also because I know you've tampered with permanent record so many times I'm surprised the system hasn't fallen to pieces," continued Major Tulsen.

Jacobyte laughed. "I could say the same for you, sir."

Tulsen laughed as well, and said, "You've done well for yourself, Captain. It's only taken you, what, three years to reach that rank?"

"Two, actually." Jacobyte fiddled with the gold buttons of his jacket in a nonchalant manner, and Tulsen chuckled again, a rich sound from the old man. He hadn't withered with age, more like he'd hardened, leathery, tough. To Jacobyte, Tulsen was the only father figure around, and that wasn't saying much.

"And a poster boy as well?" Tulsen pulled out the picture tucked into the file and held it up to the light. "Done quite well indeed. Nice smile you've got there."

"Thanks, I think."

"Just the right kind of image we need to get more people involved in the Academy."

Jacobyte's expression hardened. He bit his lip to stop a few choice words from forming. Instead, and with as little emotion as possible, he said, "As you say, sir."

The past was just that: the past. You had to move on, and you had to remember that, especially in this place, if you wanted to survive.

Jacobyte was good at survival.

XXX

Second Lieutenant Lindsa Denovan looked at her partner of five months. Had it been such a short time? It felt like longer. It felt _much_ longer.

And now it was over.

Look at him there, thought Lindsa. Tough guy attitude. From the tips of his weathered boots to the dented epaulette on his shoulder, Lieutenant Jonathan Holster positively reeked of an 'as if I care' attitude. Hell, he could probably swagger while standing absolutely still.

She'd miss him, though. She would definitely miss him.

"Who are they sticking you with after me, then?" asked Lindsa.

Jonathan reclined in the chair opposite her, attempting – and failing – to appear nonchalant. "That nancy boy off the posters," he said.

Lindsa pursed her lips and made a hissing noise.

"Tell me about it," said Jonathan.

Here goes nothing, Lindsa thought, and she said, "I'm going to miss you."

Jonathan shot her a jaunty grin. "Miss you too, babe. Every time I'm alone at night, away from you and in need of..." He licked his lips, eyes looking her up and down. "...inspiration, I'll just picture you, Second Lieutenant, in all your butch glory—"

Lindsa rolled her eyes. Jonathan's grin grew, becoming almost predatory, and then it slunk away into a wry smile instead.

"Seriously though, Lindsa, it'll be weird not having you around."

"It's only been five months," said Lindsa. She ran a hand through her short blonde hair, trying and failing to achieve the same kind of nonchalance Jonathan was.

"Feels like longer."

Lindsa smiled into the cool material of the chair.

XXX

"Lieutenant J. Holster," read Major Tulsen. "Bit of a bonus, eh? All 'J.H.'s together."

Jacobyte looked at him with disbelieving eyes. "Are you saying we're being stuck together because it's rather amazingly alphabetical?"

"Never crossed my mind," said Tulsen. He smiled at the young captain. "And anyway, it wasn't me who decided to, as you say, stick you two together. This time the orders came from above."

"Above? Management?"

"Oh, higher than that."

More disbelief. "Who's higher than that?"

"Don't know much about your namesake, do you, lad?"

Jacobyte looked from Tulsen to the miniature poster which bore his legendary smile and a promise that, at the Time Academy, all wrongs could be righted.

_Mistakes in your past?_ read the secretive advertisements scattered across the galaxy. _Worries for your future? Don't panic; the Time Academy awaits. Contact a local representative for more details._

Jacobyte both loathed and admired the way the Academy and Agency lured people in. Loathed in that it had worked, with him, and admired in that he'd learned a hell of a lot by their example. Play with what you've got, bluff with what you haven't and never ever back down unless some better alternative presents itself. Oh yes, he'd learned a lot from the Time Agency.

"What, so _he_—" Jacobyte said the pronoun as reverentially and as laden with sarcasm as was possible "—just decided to pair us, and made you do his dirty work?"

"You'll want to watch it, Captain."

"Sorry, sir."

"No, I mean it," said Tulsen. "You need to be careful what you say. The Face of Boe could pull strings and then you really would be carted off to the Rift; I'll bet you'd prefer babysitting Holster after that."

Jacobyte sat forward. "Is that what this is? Babysitting? I've heard about Holster, sir, he's reckless!"

"And you are not, Jacobyte. You are quite the opposite, if you think about it."

And Jacobyte thought about it.

XXX

Jonathan looked at Lindsa's outstretched hand and frowned. "Friends hug," he said. "And it's not like you'll never see me again."

"Oh, I'm a friend, am I?" Lindsa decided to milk this for all it was worth. "What an honour."

Exasperated and grinning, Jonathan said, "Lindsa..."

"I don't think I'll be able to top this one, oh no," Lindsa continued to say. "I'm so thrilled, really, I am."

Jonathan waited. Lindsa smiled sweetly. "Done?" he asked.

"I think so, yes," she said.

Then they hugged.

Lindsa said, "Look after yourself, yeah?"

Jonathan punched her shoulder lightly. "You know me."

Lindsa watched him walk (swagger, her brain corrected) away and murmured, "Yes I do. And that's what worries me."

XXX

"When do I get to meet the guy, then?" Jacobyte asked. Tulsen raised his bushy eyebrows and Jacobyte added, "Sir."

"The young lieutenant," Tulsen said, "should be here any moment."

Jacobyte pulled a face which clearly said 'oh goody'. Tulsen laughed, and then a knock on the door made them both sit a little straighter in their seats.

"Come in," said the older man, voice raised so as to carry to the person waiting outside. Jacobyte heard the door open but did not look around.

"You called for me, Major?" said an almost gravelly voice. Light but somehow resonant, it reminded Jacobyte of someone he used to know, and he did not appreciate the flashbacks that entailed. Repressing old memories, he turned in his chair to see just who this Jonathan Holster was. And then he froze, staring. How could a voice like that, one that spoke of old hurts and new surety, come from someone so young? Jacobyte met Jonathan's eyes, and that was when he understood. Mistakes in your past, worries for your future: the Time Agency got to you one way or another. It _changed_ you.

All of these thought processes flew by in an instant, in time for Jacobyte to extend his hand and say, "Lieutenant."

Jonathan Holster took and shook it, letting go after a short, sharp squeeze. "Captain. Nice to put a name to the, aha, face."

A muscle in Jacobyte's cheek twitched. He'd never live down agreeing to be the Agency's poster boy and gaining that nickname. Never ever. "Likewise, Lieutenant," he said. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Anything good?" asked Jonathan, a slight leer tilting his head.

Jacobyte shrugged. "Hard to say. How would you define good?"

"Do you want me to answer that," said Jonathan, "or do you want to get on with this briefing?" He flicked his gaze away from the bemused captain and said, "Major Tulsen. I hope you're doing well?"

"As well as can be expected, lad. Pull up a chair."

XXX

There's a thrill that runs through you when you're about to meet someone new, especially if, at some point, you know you'll have to trust that person with your life. This thrill is what made Jonathan Holster pause outside Tulsen's office, one hand raised, the other loosely fingering the control panel. Not nervous, not scared, just... anticipating. Jonathan had had his share of good and bad encounters over the years, and he really hoped this wouldn't be one of the latter.

Sucking in a deep breath, calming himself, Jonathan knocked on the door. Tulsen's voice drifted out into the corridor, telling him to enter, and Jonathan pushed a button on the panel, opening the door, and walked inside without a backward glance. He sized up the two men in the room and sent Tulsen a small smirk of a smile before settling his gaze on the back of other man's head and saying, "You called for me, Major?"

The man turned and Jonathan stopped, taken aback. Such a surprising depth in eyes he had only ever seen grinning and blank on posters and flyers, a lure for the broken of the universe, pulling them into the Time Agency's trap. Mistakes in my past, yes, thought Jonathan. Worries for my future? Most definitely. He watched as Captain Jacobyte Holster held out his hand to be shaken and said, "Lieutenant."

"Captain," returned Jonathan. He couldn't resist adding, "Nice to put a name to the—" He paused, giving a small chuckle. "—face." And then Jonathan took great delight, internally, as Jacobyte's expression settled into a dim glower. Obviously, thought Jonathan, someone doesn't like all the attention. He indulged in a few moments of banter before returning to the matter in hand. "Major Tulsen," he said. "I hope you're doing well."

The old man's eyes twinkled in their sockets. "As well as can be expected, lad," said Tulsen. "Pull up a chair. Lieutenant Jonathan Holster, Captain Jacobyte Hasphane." The two young men nodded to each other again from their opposing seats as Major Tulsen continued, "You'll have a little while, a few days to get better acquainted, then you're being sent out."

"Sent out?" repeated Jacobyte.

"A mission?" said Jonathan, cottoning on faster. "So soon?"

Tulsen fixed them both with a sickeningly smug smile and said, "Those above us think you're ready for it. Who am I to argue?"

"Usually the first, sir," said Jacobyte, one eyebrow quirking up.

"Too damned right," said Tulsen. He stood up and offered each of them an identical (quaint) manila folder. "Full details inside plus travel arrangements and all important documents. You know the drill." Tulsen sat back down, clapped his hands together and shuffled some papers across his expensive, and full, desk. "Now go and socialise, ladies, Major's got work to do."


	2. My Head Hurts, Does Your Head Hurt?

**Author note: **Day two into the re-post and… it's kinda good I'm doing the re-post? Two and a half years, and I never once decided to spell check or proof read this story. Whoops.

* * *

**Chapter Two – My Head Hurts, Does Your Head Hurt?**

It took Jacobyte several minutes to bypass all the security measures he'd instilled in his apartment, but they were worth it. You guarded what you had, you kept it close and safe and ultimately yours. Hopeful lessons from his younger years combined themselves with the harsh realities learned later on in life in his mind, and Jacobyte stumbled a little entering the room. Once again he wished the ghosts of the past would just leave him be.

Once again he knew, no matter how much he begged and pleaded on empty shores, they never would.

Damn.

Jacobyte's apartment was sparse, holding only the essentials. He didn't own any favoured childhood possessions, nor trinkets from lost lovers. At least, he didn't any more_._

_Mistakes in your past_?

Jacobyte pummelled his pillow, one vicious stab after another until his frustration was spent, then he shucked his gold buttoned, navy coloured coat and sat down to untie his boots. Nothing but thorough, he stripped off the rest and folded every single item of clothing neatly away into the closet by his narrow bed until all he had left was his wrist strap.

The room itself was barely long enough to fit all of his six feet of height but he managed, somehow. It was a space to call his own and, after everything that had happened, he treasured that.

XXX

The barman eyed Jonathan up. "Want another?"

"No thanks, Rathy," said Jonathan. He drained the last dregs of his glass. "Work tomorrow, you know how it is."

Rathy folded his arms and leaned on the bar, the purple spines on the back of his head concertinaing downward. "Yeah, I do. If you had work tomorrow, you'd usually be on your fifth by now." He waggled the bottle of mega-gin and Jonathan twisted his lips, considering.

"Oh, go on then," he said. "One more can't hurt."

"So," Rathy said as he poured another large measure into Jonathan's glass, "what's this work then? I thought you were with the blonde. On leave."

"Nosy fish, aren't you?"

"It's the lack of nose that does it. I'm just trying to compensate."

Jonathan finished the mega-gin and slapped his cheeks appreciatively. "That stuff," he told Rathy, "is complete and utter shit."

"Why do you keep drinking it then, eh? No one's making you stay." Rathy took the empty glass from between them, spat in it and began to wipe it with the cloth from his apron. Jonathan watched with some revulsion. "What?" said Rathy.

"Should I ask?" Jonathan indicated the spittle. Rathy looked down at the glass in his hands.

"Probably not," said the blowfish. "Some people consider it to be quite healthy, you know."

"Well, I'm not one of those people," said Jonathan. "I'll have the bottle straight up next time, 'cause that's just disgusting."

Rathy shrugged. "Fine by me. So long as you pay upfront."

Jonathan dug into his pocket and threw a few coins onto the metal surface of the bar. "Sounds like we have a deal." He slid off the bar stool and said, "By the way, I am loving what you've done with your..." He gestured underneath his chin whilst looking at Rathy's own.

"Face tendrils?"

Jonathan headed for the door, walking backwards. "Is that what you're calling them?"

Rathy grinned and put the now clean (for a given definition of clean) glass down on the shelves behind.

"Anyway," Jonathan continued, "they look good. Who'd have thought plaits would work on a blowfish?" He paused at the door, holding it open to let some un-inebriated student past and into the bar where they would hopefully be inebriated before long. "I'll catch you later, Rathy," said Jonathan as Rathy began to serve the eager Time Cadets.

"Later," murmured Rathy. To the cadets he said, "Special offer today: two mega-gins for the price of one."

Jonathan shook his head. The cadets would regret Rathy's bargains when the hangover struck in the morning; mega-gin wasn't for the faint hearted.

Several streets of walking, among other things, later, Jonathan arrived at his apartment block and took the hover-lift to the top floor. He'd specifically made sure to get a place of his own _outside_ of the Time Agency/Academy complex. Everyone needed a space to themselves, somewhere away from the job; if you weren't careful the Time Agency could rot you to the core.

Also, the penthouse rooms Jonathan rented gave unparalleled views of the city. The glitter of a hundred races below mirroring the shine of the galaxy above served well to push away Jonathan's earlier years. He'd sworn to get away, and this seemed far enough, for now.

He took out the bottle of gin he'd managed to sneak from the bar and took a sip, wincing as it hit the back of his throat. "Bloody awful," Jonathan said, then he upended the bottle and drank nearly half before wandering out into the corridor.

He paused in front of the mirror screen on-route to his bedroom and admired the reflection, specifically his newly acquired calf length russet coat. He gave a little spin, loving the way it flared out and how each silver button caught the light, and he let loose a mischievous giggle.

Okay. Maybe enough gin, then.

Jonathan's bedroom was full of tat, he had to admit. Bits of glitter and junk from half the cosmos littered his shelves, some spilling over to make the floor a health hazard. He picked his way across the detritus and took of the coat, throwing it over the end of the bed before toeing off his beaten leather boots and slipping out of the rest. His trousers landed somewhere on the other side of the room where, come morning, he would most likely fall and almost break his neck.

Oh well.

Jonathan near collapsed onto his big-enough-for-three bed and rolled himself up in the sheets. He winced again as the rough material caught scarred flesh, a reminder of days gone by – a warning to himself.

_Never again_.

XXX

The cafe just outside the Time Academy's complex seemed, to Jacobyte, full of red eyed, pale faced cadets. This in itself was not such an odd occurrence but the fact that most of them seemed to be cursing about blowfishes did strike Jacobyte as rather peculiar. He waited in line and bought two small coffees, sitting down and blowing on his own cup, settling in for a wait.

Meanwhile, Jonathan watched him from the corner of the crowded room. He'd gotten Jacobyte's message earlier: a sharp eyed hologram with just the hint of a mocking smile tugging at his lips in the grainy blue as he said, "Rouge Cascade, two hours time, don't be late."

Jonathan Holster being Jonathan Holster, he was intentionally late and now sat watching Jacobyte flick his eyes around the bustling cafe, searching for the young lieutenant. Jonathan bit back a grin as he stood up and Jacobyte caught sight of him.

"Somehow I know you wouldn't be here on time," Jacobyte commented as Jonathan slid into the seat opposite.

"I was, though. You're funny when you wait. You twitch."

Jacobyte shrugged. "I got you a drink." Jonathan picked up the other cup and took a tentative sip, gagging on the liquid. "It might have gone cold, mind," said the Captain while Jonathan spluttered.

He wiped his mouth. "Thanks for the warning."

"You're welcome," Jacobyte said sweetly.

Jonathan leant back on his chair and took another sip of the cold coffee. "It's not that bad, you know."

"Really?"

"No, it's awful. Back in a moment."

Jacobyte held up his empty cup. "Get me another one while you're there?"

"Taking liberties already, are we, Captain?"

Jacobyte's eyes flashed. He knew how to play this. "As many as possible," he said, and Jonathan took the cup from his hand, brushing their fingers together rather deliberately. Jacobyte continued to meet his stare and Jonathan grinned before sauntering across the room. He returned with two steaming cups, sat down opposite Jacobyte again and put the coffees between them.

"So," said Jonathan. "Socialising, huh?"

"It would appear so." Jacobyte leaned across to stir some sugar syrup into his drink.

"How long do we have to socialise for, do you reckon?"

Jacobyte didn't look up as he said, "Until the writer finds us something else to do."

Jonathan blinked at him. "You believe in that hokum?"

"Nah. Just had an old friend that did, was always fun to mess with him."

"Not the religious type, then?"

Jacobyte fixed him with mocking grin. "What do you think?"

"Hard to believe in anything with this job," said Jonathan. "You even lose your faith in people."

"Tell me about it," said Jacobyte, and he chuckled before drinking some more of his coffee.

"Is this the point where we have a heart to heart and tell each other all about ourselves?" Jonathan said, more musing than actually asking.

"Do you _want_ to have a heart to heart?" Jacobyte tilted his head and waited the few short seconds for Jonathan to mull the question over.

"No," he said finally.

"Good," said Jacobyte. He smiled. "Me either. I do, however, want some cake."

"They only had banana. I checked."

Jacobyte considered this. "Nah," he said.

"Good source of potassium, you know."

A snort. "I'll wait."

They finished their drinks and looked around the cafe, watching the brightest and best of the Academy fight the down and dirty of the Agency to be first in line for their almost hourly caffeine fixes.

"What do you want to do now?" Jonathan asked after a while, eyes fixed on the cluster of young cadets he's seen the night before, now nursing their drinks and rubbing their sore heads. He grinned at them, unable to help himself.

"Hm?" said Jacobyte.

"We've got a few hours to kill before final briefing," said Jonathan. "Anything in particular you want to do?" He looked Jacobyte over speculatively, thinking of all the things that could be done in a couple of hours. Jacobyte noticed this and sighed.

"Nothing," said the captain. "There's nothing I want to do."

The corners of Jonathan's mouth twitched. "Really?"

"Really."

Jacobyte stood up, pulling back on his navy coat, adjusting it till it hung straight without ruffling his white t-shirt.

"What," asked Jonathan, his eyebrows rising, "leaving so soon?"

"I fear there's only so much time I can spend in your presence, Lieutenant," said Jacobyte, "and I've had my fill for now. Clearly you're someone a guy needs to build up a tolerance to." He pushed his char back under the table, turned around with a small, mocking salute to Jonathan, and began to weave his way out of the crowded cafe.

"You say that like it's a bad thing!" Jonathan shouted after him. He settled back into his seat, chuckling softly. "Captain Jacobyte Hasphane. Something tells me the next few weeks are going to be interesting."


	3. In Your Endo!

**Author note: **Bit of a late insomnia post… oh well. Clearly night time isn't for sleep anyway?

* * *

**Chapter Three – In **_**Your**_** Endo!**

Lieutenant Jonathan Holster wrinkled his nose. "They have put us," he said slowly, "on a bus."

"It's a freighter," said Jacobyte. He lifted his head up from the bench and peered across to where Jonathan sat, arms folded, scowl firmly in place.

"It's an intergalactic ferry for the diseased."

A green skinned woman sitting at the other end of the cabin glared at them, her high cheek bones nearly meeting her eyebrows in the process, it was such a glare. Jacobyte offered her an apologetic smile and she huffed, turning her face to the window.

Jacobyte caught Jonathan's eyes. "Ever heard of a thing called tact?"

"Tact?" repeated Jonathan. "What's tact? The Agency doesn't do tact!"

"Or being incognito?"

"I know I'm in _something_."

Jacobyte sat up completely and, as Jonathan continued to mumble and complain, he addressed the green woman thus, "You're allowed to have the initial reaction of wanting to punch him in the face, just to note."

The woman laughed despite herself, despite her annoyance. She shuffled along the room length bench, her patched purple dress catching on the slats, and offered her hand. Jacobyte took it, smiling.

"I'm Chikari," she said.

"Jaxon Hodge," said Jacobyte. "Where're you headed?"

Jonathan watched the pair flirt and his scowl increased with each and every low lidded blink Jacobyte directed at the emerald skinned woman.

XXX

The freighter docked on Dringis several days later and Jacobyte and Jonathan disembarked, Chikari having waved at least one of them rather fondly off. Jonathan was still scowling and, to his annoyance, Jacobyte remained chipper.

The fake passports and identification the Time Agency had provided them with got the captain and lieutenant through Dringisian border control flawlessly. The only hiccup had occurred when one of the Dringisian equivalent of police officials spotted Jonathan's wrist strap, panic making the man's eyes flare wide until a casually produced monetary note was slipped into his leathery skinned hand by Jacobyte and the official became, all of a sudden, amazingly unobservant.

As they walked away from the border control buildings and into the smog filled sky of Dringis's main city, for Dringis was a planet full to the brim with fossil fuels and had been developed with factory complexes covering almost all of its solitary landmass. Oil rigs dotted the coast with more robustly designed rigs and pipelines stretching out into the ocean. Anyway, as Jacobyte and Jonathan walked away from border control, the Captain turned on the other man.

"Rookie mistake," said Jacobyte. "If you're going to wear it while undercover, keep it out of sight at _all_ times."

"I know the drill," snapped Jonathan. "But what are the odds? Come on. Seriously, the chances of _anyone_ recognising these straps…"

"Regardless."

Jonathan sniffed. "Well, maybe I'd have been more careful if someone hadn't spent most of the last few days macking a Yisxa, and more besides."

Jacobyte shot him a sidelong glance as the pair strode down another clustered ramp way. Since they weren't too far from the space port, their clean-cut clothes didn't stand out too much but if they ever needed to wander the workers' quarter, they'd have to get new gear.

"She wasn't Yisxa," Jacobyte finally said. "Didn't have three eyes. And aren't they reputed for liking engines?"

"She liked your engine, that's all I'm saying."

Jacobyte slung an arm around Jonathan's shoulder. Jonathan glowered at him. "Why wouldn't she?" Jacobyte was saying. "Nothing wrong with this engine."

"You appear to have come out of your shell, Captain," remarked Jonathan, both amused and perturbed, especially when Jacobyte's only reply was to tip him a wink. "Jaxon Hodge, eh?"

"Keep it close enough to be different, that's what the Major always said." Jacobyte stopped at the bustling crossroads. Night was falling; if they didn't find their way to the apartment the Time Agency had acquired for them soon they'd probably end up in some bar someplace, and Jacobyte didn't want to start a mission like that. End? Yes. Start? Hell no.

Jonathan flagged down a passing Dringisian wearing soot streaked overalls and a bristling moustache. "Could you help us here? We're a bit lost," he said, making his voice small and piteous. Heck, somehow, Jacobyte noted, Jonathan had made his entire _demeanour_ small and piteous. It made you want to coddle him...

Jacobyte forced himself to concentrate on the exchange, taking a care to attempt to look as hopeless as Jonathan did.

"Where're y' headed?" asked the moustache, taking pity on the pair.

Jonathan took out the grubby map he'd picked up from the space port. "Umm," he said.

"You're holding it upside down," the moustache told him. He took the map off Jonathan and they both peered at it. Jacobyte hovered behind them. "Ah, there's your problem," said the moustache after several minutes of mumbled confusion, "you're in the wrong sector. Two lefts and then straight on down Lilliphant Avenue and you're safe and dry."

"Thanks," Jonathan simpered as the moustache waddled away again. He rolled his eyes the moment the overall wearing man was out of sight and stood up and a little straighter.

"Nicely done," said Jacobyte.

Jonathan swelled at the compliment. "I'm good at appearing like I've come from somewhere else, wherever I am. Benefits of not having a home, I guess."

"You've got a home," Jacobyte pointed out, "back on Glariyo."

"What, at the Agency's beck and call? You think _that's_ home?" Jacobyte didn't answer, didn't have one to give. Jonathan said, "Forget it. Let's find this Lilliphant Avenue, I'm beat."

XXX

Lilliphant Avenue was, to the locals, considered to be bustling hub of Dringis's commercial sector: metal-sheet covered market stalls on every street, their roofs crackled and warped by the almost daily falls of corrosive acid rain; hotels and the Dringisian equivalent of Bed and Breakfasts. You could buy almost anything on and around Lilliphant Avenue. You could sell almost everything, too. Jacobyte and Jonathan walked past the rows of near starved young men and women, their bodies covered by a scrap of clothing between them, lips catcalling promises to any ears that would listen, to any pockets that would pay.

Jonathan continued without a second glance, but Jacobyte paused for a moment, throwing a few coins to sickest, youngest looking prostitute.

"Come on, bleeding heart," Jonathan called from through the crowd. "Time for all that later. I want to hit the hay!"

Jacobyte offered the sickly young man a small smile that wasn't returned, and he set off after Jonathan. A few side streets later, and seventeen floors up to boot, the two Time Agents stepped out of the lift and peered along the dingy corridor. "If that's mood lighting, I must be feeling worse than I thought," said Jonathan. "This is... couldn't the Agency have gotten us someplace better? You know, somewhere the residents won't eat us in our sleep?"

Jacobyte chuckled and walked past him. He pulled out the key card the tired looking woman downstairs in the lobby, the one bearing a name tag proclaiming the legend 'Hi, my name is FILL IN HERE! How may I be of service?' had given him and he wandered down the hallway, counting off rooms. "This is us," he said. "Room one hundred and one."

"Huh," was all Jonathan had to say. He heaved his rucksack so it sat more comfortably on his shoulder and came up beside Jacobyte.

"After you," said the captain. He held up the key card and Jonathan took it.

"Why, thank you," he said.

"Ladies first, no worries."

Jonathan's lips twisted. "You know, blue really isn't your colour."

"Bite me, Holster."

"That an invitation?"

"Only if you floss."

Jonathan gave in first, laughing. He swiped they key card on the door's lock and shouldered his way inside, and stopped, and stared. "Sweet goddesses," he murmured, face set in a horrified rictus.

From behind him Jacobyte said, "What?"

"I just had the most unerring sensation of homesickness."

Jacobyte shuffled past him and stood in the apartment's narrow corridor, eyes wide as he stared from wall to wall. "Whoa," he said, surveying the horror. He turned on Jonathan. "How does this make you feel homesick?"

"I say homesick, I mean that it looks like where I grew up and I'm about to puke my guts out."

"Go ahead," said Jacobyte. "Anything's better than paisley." He poked the peeling wallpaper and then absentmindedly wiped his finger on the back of Jonathan's jacket while the other man shuddered.

Like practically all the hotels in the commercial sector, as they'd been built at the same time – flat packed complexes put together in record time to house the working masses, and the visiting masses, as Dringis saw a lot of trade and had much need for businessmen. The apartment the Time Agency had provided their agents with consisted of a simple box structure with dividing walls and an open plan living area. One corridor ran down either side of the apartment, culminating before the floor length windows (which offered unparalleled views of the building opposite – identical, of course). Standing in the living room cum dining room, the left hand corridor lead to two bedrooms while the right hand corridor offered both bathroom and kitchen as its reward, along with the door to the apartment itself.

Jonathan inspected each room in turn, from the cramped bathroom at the end of the right corridor, the minimalistic cooking space next door, the open living and dining area, one sedately decorated, gender and taste neutral bedroom followed by the last, at the end of the left hand corridor: a pink walled, chartreuse splashed horror of a room that contained the most stripy, brain-hurting bed sheets Jonathan had ever seen.

"Jacobyte," he said slowly. "Come and see this."

Jacobyte poked his head around the living area wall to look down the left corridor. Catching sight of Jonathan's reinstated rictus of horror, he frowned and said, "What? It can't be worse than the traffic light neon sofa..." His voice trailed off as he saw inside the room. "Sweet merciful heavens."

"I know!" said Jonathan. "Bagsie."

"What?"

"Bagsie. I want it."

"You worry me."

"Oh, do I?"

"A lot."

"Good. I'm finally doing something right."

Jacobyte shook his head and wandered back through the living room with a shudder in the direction of the neon pink, orange and green sofas with matching tables, to pick up his own rucksack before coming back down the left corridor. Jonathan had already disappeared into what would now be his room, so Jacobyte opened the door to his own and looked around with a speculative eye.

Not bad, he thought. _It's got the essentials. I like the essentials. The bare minimum._

A noise caught Jacobyte's attention and he went back out into the hallway to discover, through the open doorway of Jonathan's room, the young lieutenant bouncing on his bed. Jonathan paused mid jump, his legs buckling beneath him, and he collapsed to the pillows. "What?" he said defensively.

"Oh," Jacobyte said, lacing his voice with as much syrupy sweetness as he could muster, "nothing." He shut Jonathan's door and went back to his own room to unpack his belongings. The sound of squeaking bedsprings resumed, and Jacobyte chuckled into his open backpack. It was like having a brother again, he thought before he could stop himself.

He'd dream about them again tonight, he knew he would. The last week or so had been blissfully free of the past and its ghosts, but Jacobyte knew he couldn't run forever. They'd catch up. They always caught up.

And their screams travelled before them.

"Night!" shouted Jonathan from next door.

"Night," Jacobyte mumbled. He wrapped the pale blue blanket around himself, feeling the strange material warm to his touch. He shuddered then, cocooned in a grimy corner of yet another planet. However far he ran, they caught up. "Gray," he whispered, his eyes tight shut. "Please..."

XXX

Jonathan looked at himself in the mirror, a critical eye roving over each tiny (and not so tiny) welt on his skin. While not being the high quality screen he was used to, the reflective sheet of mineral glass served well enough for its purpose. He winced as one finger probed the deepest of the scars, the simple touch inflaming his damaged nerves.

A soft cry make Jonathan's head snap up.

He hopped over the bed and pressed his ear to the wall dividing his and Jacobyte's rooms, and he listened.

"Safe... safe, Gray, please..."

Jonathan furrowed his brows at the wall and listened harder.

"Where're… You have to... have you, but you don't... please..."

"Jacobyte Hasphane," murmured Jonathan. "What are you hiding?"


	4. Of Deals, Darlings and Darling Deals

**Author note:** The protest post continues! A little later than intended. Whoops?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! New readers and old. You're all awesome.

* * *

**Chapter Four – Of Deals, Darlings and Darling Deals**

Weak, watery sunshine flooded the tiny living room, and Jonathan Holster winced. "I need a drink," he said.

"You can't have a hangover," said Jacobyte from the kitchen. "You didn't have anything to drink last night."

"This is a hang-under. I need alcohol to get the blood pumping."

"There's only this place's equivalent of coffee, I'm afraid." Jacobyte appeared behind where Jonathan sat on the neon sofa chairs. Jonathan sighed and took the battered, chipped mug that Jacobyte offered. He paused, sniffed the air and shot Jacobyte a curious look.

"You cooked?"

"Why do you seem so surprised by that?"

"Oh nothing, it's just..." Jonathan looked him up and down. "Well, you know."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No, what?"

"Nothing," Jonathan said sweetly. Jacobyte raised an eyebrow, waiting. "You don't seem the type," explained Jonathan.

"Type?" Jacobyte repeated.

"Yeah, the do-it-yourself type."

"Darling," said Jacobyte. He folded his arms on the back of the sofa chair, leaning over Jonathan's shoulder. "If I weren't the do-it-yourself type, you'd know about it."

"I'm a darling now, am I?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On whether or not you like what I've cooked."

"What _have_ you cooked?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Jacobyte said with a masterful grin.

"Well yes," said Jonathan. "Hence the asking."

Jacobyte pushed himself back up again and sauntered along the right-side corridor and back into the kitchen, whistling cheerfully to Jonathan's protesting ears.

XXX

Jonathan put down his plate on the cluttered surface. The two men were sat opposite each other at the simple table and two chairs set up beside the neon sofa in the living area, and the contents of the folders they had been given now lay strewn across between them, a paperwork ocean intermixed with the odd continent of a serving plate or coffee mug iceberg.

"Well?" said Jacobyte meaningfully.

"I'm a darling. I am a very full and very satisfied darling."

"Good." Jacobyte moved to clear up the dirty plates and crockery, but Jonathan's hand came up to stop him.

"You cooked," he said. "I'll clean. We might as well get a rota in place since we're going to be here for a while." To Jacobyte's nonplussed expression he said, "Read the small print on page five."

Jonathan picked up the serving plates and walked into the kitchen, the sound of rustling paper accompanying his padded footsteps across the carpet. He'd just put the plates into the washing machine (back on Glariyo he'd had a sonic washer, but this planet was only just branching into blue chip industries and so sonic technology most likely wouldn't be commercialised for quite some time) when he heard Jacobyte groan.

"A month?" Jacobyte said what Jonathan padded back into the living room. "A month of tailing?"

"The Agency must really want to nail this guy," said Jonathan.

Jacobyte peered at his face. "Say that again."

"They must really want to nail this guy?" Jonathan returned Jacobyte's inquisitive stare with a more bewildered one of his own. "What?"

"Yeah, I thought I saw you smirk..."

Jonathan shrugged.

"Well, anyway," continued Jacobyte, "they do. I've heard about this one. He went rogue a few years back and has been screwing agents—" Jacobyte paused. "Jonathan. Stop it."

"What? I'm innocent."

"Hardly."

"You make a valid point." Jonathan somehow managed to combine a grin and a leer on his face and he turned it on Jacobyte: Jacobyte recoiled.

"What the hell's that meant to be?"

"A grileer," said Jonathan.

"A what?"

"Never mind," he said. "Do continue with your tale."

"So he's been screwing agents _over_—" Jacobyte was careful to enunciate the word "—for ages now. Managed to swindle several million."

"In what currency?"

Jacobyte flicked through his file. "All of them, apparently."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"Make you want to quit?" At Jacobyte's thoughtful expression, Jonathan added, "Quit and get away before they wipe you, I mean."

Jacobyte laughed. There wasn't much humour in the sound. "Not worth the hassle," said Jacobyte. "Would _you_ want the Agency's finest chasing after you across half the galaxy?"

"Hold up," said Jonathan. "_We're_ the best they had to send? That, my friend, says a lot about the Time Agency and all associated establishments."

This time Jacobyte's chuckle held some warmth. "Sure does."

Jonathan smiled. He sat down again and poked at a few of the pages. "We got a name for this guy?"

"Nope," said Jacobyte, popping the _p_.

Jonathan blinked. "What?"

"Oh, come on, like any name would stick? He could have dozens!" Jacobyte riffled through his file until he found what he was looking for. He held up the smell square and said, "We do have a picture, though."

"That's all we have to go on? Seriously? Some long distance shot, fuzzy thumbnail?"

Jacobyte regarded the photograph. "It's more of a hangnail, really. Too small for a thumbnail. Maybe a thumbnail-ette?"

"I think you're getting off topic here."

"Yes, right, sorry."

Jonathan leaned back in his chair and picked at his teeth. "What's the plan then, Captain?"

Jacobyte considered this. And considered. And considered.

"Jacobyte?"

"I'll get back to you on that," he said, frowning at some more of the paperwork, brows furrowed enough that a master ploughman would have broken down in tears of jealousy upon witnessing them. Jonathan left him to it.

XXX

Jacobyte got back to his lieutenant companion within a few hours, during which Jonathan had spent the time attempting to complete a jigsaw puzzle he'd found under one of the low coffee tables. The picture of a poodle, marred by jigsaw lines as each intricate shape was placed down, stared up at him mournfully, and Jonathan said, "I know. I'm sorry, but I can't make him hurry up anymore than you can."

"Jonathan?"

Jonathan stood up from his crouch, dusting himself down. "Yeah?"

"Should I ask?" Jacobyte raised an eyebrow down at the mournful poodle puzzle.

"Probably not."

"I have a plan, by the way."

"And you can't go wrong with a plan," Jonathan quoted. "Unless it's a bad plan, in which case?"

"Get another plan," finished Jacobyte. "I didn't realise you were familiar with Earth literature, least not from three millennia back."

"Be prepared," Jonathan quoted again, this time wiggling his fingers in the air for quotation marks.

"Stop it," Jacobyte told him.

"Fine," said Jonathan, and pulled his lips into a perturbed pout. "Will you carry on with your master plan, then?"

"Okay," said Jacobyte, "here's how it's going to work..."

XXX

"I don't appreciate this," said Jonathan.

Jacobyte straightened his overalls. "Shut up and look like bait."

"I _really_ don't appreciate this."

Jacobyte sighed and said, "It's the only way."

"Why can't you be the mole?"

"I'm not adorkable enough."

"Pardon?"

"Jonathan, we're been through this enough. Now yu're just complaining for complaint's sake." They both looked at Jonathan's reflection. The plan was simple, in theory. Looking like one of the workers who was down on his luck, Jonathan would get himself lapped up by the Sophola Trite, which was Dringis's main shady and highly organised group of dubious legality (as opposed to the Dringisian Government who were a shady, highly _un_organised group of legal dubiousness). His cover story was that he had been hitching his way across the constellation only to fall foul of a drunken bet and end up on Dringis with no money and only bruises to his name, which he hadn't even been able to remember, or so the story went.

"Jo Henson?" repeated Jonathan as Jacobyte reached this point of the plan.

"Similar enough to different," was all Jacobyte said before diving back into his explanation.

And the Sophola Trite would believe Jonathan, or indeed Jo Henson. How could they not? Look at him there with his puppy eyed plea and a smile that never seems to be as happy as he intends...

Jacobyte coughed. "Anyway, they'll believe you," he said as Jonathan stared. "We've got all the papers you need, which is not a lot. Factory workers here don't need much, just their hands and an ability to, if not work, then at least work _for_ the workers."

Jonathan was still staring at him, but then he blinked and the moment seemed to pass. "Oh, fine. And once accepted I begin to scope around?"

"Pretty much." Jacobyte pushed a button on his wrist strap, bringing up some of the digital information he'd brought with them. "If you see or hear anything relating to this, you tell me straight off."

"What is it?"

"You don't know chronon cells when you see them?"

Jonathan blinked. "_That's_ what they look like?"

"In their rawest form," said Jacobyte, his tone almost reverential. Jonathan laughed at him. "Shut up, dungaree boy."

"Oh, you did not."

"Oh, I so did."

"You so did not."

"I so did."

"Okay, stop, this could go on for a while," said Jonathan. "How do I look?" He gave a spin. "Once drunken hitch hiker, now down on my luck, stone-broke and forced to beat rocks at the bottom of mine shafts to survive?"

"Surprisingly enough it's a good look for you."

"Bite me," Jonathan said affectionately.

"Maybe later." Jacobyte gathered up the sparse documents from Jonathan's bed and put them into a ratted satchel before slinging it across the young lieutenant's shoulders. "As a reward."

After a long moment, Jonathan said, "You're messing with me, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Jacobyte, his expression carefully blank. "Now go, go and get drunk and land in the Sophola Trite's laps, and be a good little pathetic piece of shit."

Jonathan blinked, a little taken aback. "Sir, yes sir," he said, meeting Jacobyte's eyes and holding them to ransom, huskily continuing, "As my Captain commands."

To Lieutenant Jonathan Holster's insatiable delight, Captain Jacobyte Hasphane blushed near beetroot red. Jonathan smiled a slow, cool smile and said, "I'll be back later, if at all."

Jacobyte just nodded. He started to say something but had to clear his throat. "Fine. See you then."

Jonathan left without looking back, eyes twinkling at the mouldy corridors ahead of him.

XXX

"But Sheila, I said, I said, Sheila, you can't do this to me, baby! Or was it Shelly? Might have been Shelly... I know it was a _shh_ name... Shh. Hehe. Shh."

The barman looked at the young curly-haired man sat across from him. From his grease stained work clothes to the cuts on his knuckles, the desperate look in his paled blue eyes and the shadows underneath them: it was a story Murthan had seen and heard far too many times. It was going to be a long night. Murthan, at the wave of the man's hand, slid him another full glass.

"Thanks," slurred the young man. He stared at the drink. He drained the drink. Murthan poured him another. "And, and you know what?"

"What?" said Murthan, not really paying attention – there were no new stories, no new tales of pain and suffering on Dringis. The cycle of squalor looped in on itself over and over, forming the perfect knot of rope for the next desperado seeking a way out to hang himself with.

"You're a fish."

"Very observant, kid."

"Are all barmen blowfishes? Seems like everywhere I go there's— wha?" The boy stopped as Murthan hissed; stopped at the sharp shake of Murthan's spine-covered head. "Wha' is it?"

"You want to be careful, boy." Murthan looked him over again, pity in his maroon eyes. "Watch what you say. People listen a lot round here."

The boy just laughed and ever so slowly slid off his seat... straight into the path of one Nicrax Trixon. Murthan paled, his skin turning from burgundy red to a sickly looking scarlet.

"What," said Nicrax Trixon, his head-spines fanning upward, "is that?"

"Mr Trixon, sir, ignore the boy, he's drunk, he didn't mean to—" One of Trixon's goons stepped forward and Murthan fell silent.

"Drunk, is he?" Trixon regarded the silently giggling young man at his feet. His nostril slits flapped as he breathed in, scenting. "Oh, yes, quite inebriated. How careless of you, Mr Murthan. You're meant to serve them not preserve them."

"But I—"

"Did I say I was finished?"

Murthan's spines flattened. "No, Mr Trixon."

Nicrax Trixon jerked his emerald head to one side, a twitching motion accompanied by a sickening crunch-click sound. "No, I didn't," he said, voice soft, then he turned to the heavy set, bald headed, goggle wearing lackey by his side and waved a hand at the boy. "Bring him with us. We're going to have some fun with this one."


End file.
